


Ouroboros

by Radical_Anus



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage as Plot Device, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Magic does a Weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radical_Anus/pseuds/Radical_Anus
Summary: Bahamut is a god of sacrifice. By sacrifice was the rite begun, and by sacrifice shall it be completed.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> Done for an exchange in the Ardynoct Server.

The curtains were drawn unevenly across the window and daylight stopped just on the other side of the file tray where manila envelopes teetered in the ‘OUT’ section.

Pen rolling across paper was the only sound in his study for the past…however long, he didn’t know. Time passed like a stranger in the crowd to him, blurred and unchecked.

It was only the sudden assault of light from beyond the door that reminded him of a world very much alive and inhabited outside his dark corner. 

And of the food set for him, perhaps, hours ago.

Noctis glanced to his left, into the dark of the study, at the untouched saucer of fruit. Their juices had long since pooled under the carefully diced pieces—they were probably glued to the porcelain like the other five servings.

He stayed the white-gloved hand that came to take it, not once looking up from his work. 

“Leave it, I... I’ll eat it in just a minute.” 

His retainer paused before reaching around the prince’s barrier. “It’s two days old, Highness. Allow me to bring you a fresh—.”

_“Leave it.”_

He left it.

Noctis frowned at the sudden taste of ash in his mouth, the echo of his own voice sending a chill down his spine. He ignored it, trying to continue his work.

“…Noct,” Ignis started slowly. Carefully. “You’ve been cooped up in here for days. It’s unhealthy. I suggest—.”

“I’m fine, Iggy.”

“At least take a walk,” the other man pressed. “You’re working yourself into--.”

“After I’m done with these.”

It was quite the development, Noctis thought. The one man who admonished him for not engaging in the affairs of the kingdom--urging him to ignore them. Times had truly changed.

He flashed Ignis a wan smile, carefully ignoring the cinched brows on his friend’s face.

At the adviser’s slight nod, Noctis glimpsed his reflection in those familiar spectacles--felt his stomach turn at the sight of himself. At his eyes. Grave negligence glared at him, glimmering like a cat’s in the night.

He averted his gaze.

Softly, this time: “I promise.”

He saw the unease in the curve of Ignis’ brow before he turned to leave the study. The click of the lock was like thunder, and the darkness greedily retook the room.

Noctis set the pen down and took the saucer into his hands. It took some doing to pry the hardened fruit pieces off the surface. They had an unhealthy crunch to them, but he didn’t care.

Anything to get the foul taste of death off his tongue. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, looking at the crust-laden dish. Minutes? Hours? Time became almost negligible since the crystal.

He swiveled in his chair and looked over at the mobile phone on the end table, thoughtful. Then dismissed it, rising to his feet.

He’d be fine.

There was a dull thunk before something cool rested across his heated brow. Noctis sighed, leaning into the touch.

“Awake now, are you?”

His heart skipped a beat, eyes opening of their own accord to find Ardyn perched on a chair at his bedside. He took the older man in, the no-longer sunken cheeks and auburn hair, molten as the clock rewound its degradation. 

More aware, he noticed he was propped up on many pillows, almost sitting upright and dressed in his official night attire, the first few buttons undone. 

Body moving on its own, Noctis reached out with a shaky hand.

“You promised me, Moondust,” Ardyn hummed, removing the cool of his palm and taking the offered hand in his, absently running his thumb over the back. He linked their fingers together, capturing Noctis’ gaze with his own. “But you were still careless.”

Noctis couldn’t look away, still transfixed on eyes so close to being blue again. They were a dull green now with dollops of sunburst and flecked with precious, precious blue—the sun-swallowed sky.

“Worth it,” he heard himself say, tongue too-loose from exhaustion. 

Ardyn’s expression blackened, but when he spoke it was still the soft rumble that greeted Noct’s waking moments. “We agreed, Noctis. As soon as I left you would purge and take your rest.”

It was then that Noctis felt the familiar pang of remorse. Not for what he’d done, but for the agony put upon the other man’s face.

“But you’re back,” he argued softly. “It was worse this time.”

Ardyn’s face softened, but he didn’t disagree. Instead: “You took too much. Far too soon.” 

Noctis felt himself smile. “That’s what I used to tell you, and you never listened. Now look at you, centuries later.”

Ardyn’s grip tightened like a desperate plea. 

A warning.

“Things got hectic,” Noctis relented, gaze finally falling to their entwined hands. “After you left, I was swamped with--.”

“You let it fester for days.”

A weighted silence.

“…’M Sorry.”

Ardyn heaved a tired sigh. 

They spent a few moments in silence, Ardyn lost in thought while Noctis watched him. It was only when the Noctis’ eyelids started flagging did he speak again.

“Rest.” Ardyn pulled away and tucked Noctis in. “I will be gone in the morning.”

Noctis slept.

Ardyn sighed.

The scourge was a vile thing. 

It restored him just as fast as it ate away at his very soul. It was the ultimate sacrifice he made for the people of Eos—his duty as the first king, to save them all from the terrible plague threatening to wipe out all of mankind.

He gave himself to the darkness so that one more person may yet live. And the gods took exception to that. They snatched his crown and placed it on the head of his traitorous brother, and left him to rot in containment for centuries. Trapped him with the voices of the damned he took the time to save.

Ifrit wasn’t wrong for what he wanted to do. Ardyn finally saw that.

And so he sought what the Six owed him: recompense. And what better way than to destroy everything they sought to ‘save?’

War was waged, territories stolen and lives taken all for the sake of the magic that could have saved the world but didn’t.

Ardyn would have gotten what he wanted, but—.

He shook his head with a scowl. 

No.

He was better than that. But the scourge was a powerful influence when left unchecked. Ardyn was able to keep tight fisted control over it for years—even after demonizing the Infernian. But the plague was rebelling now that there was a way to get rid of it. 

A way he was actively pursuing.

Ardyn glanced down at Noctis who lay fast asleep on their shared bed, stasis taking hold after absorbing what he could of the plague. Thankfully, this time Ardyn was more in control—able to stop this mad man from taking on more than he could bear. 

But there were many bad days when the Scourge resurged and asserted its dominance. When the reminder of why he was even here became too apparent and his anger at the gods reared its ugly head. The fear would grip him when the voices got louder, and he would run to seek Noctis—the light that healed.

The light that healed with no regard to himself.

The reports from the citadel about past…incidents…were rather disturbing to say the least. Ardyn knew there was a catch to this ‘Covenant of the Oracle.’

Getting rid of the scourge, in time, restored his humanity and took away any pain that it caused him for so long. His memories, fragmented and twisted, were being restored. The whispers were finally being silenced. He was finally allowed to live.

To speak to Aera—have the marriage he was denied.

He absently ran his fingers through Noctis’ hair, frown deepening. 

But by returning his humanity, he’d begun to fear for Noctis’ life. And it tore at his healer’s heart. 

Sometimes, when the scourge was too strong, Aera was brought from the crystal, to remind him—bring him to heel. It was a merciless tactic employed by the Bladekeeper himself and Ardyn detested it. Each of their exchanges yielded an experience Noctis would always forget. He only retained echoes of past hunts, and things Ardyn did—what daemons did. Soon after, he took on the memories of the First Oracle—her thoughts; her actions—her love.

The blood shed for the Covenant of the Oracle.

‘I did it to save you, Ardyn,’ she said.

‘You deserved to live,’ she said.

But not like this, he would have told her. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Because even if it was her voice that spoke, it was Noctis he faced. And there were…things that he did that held nothing of Aera’s essence to it. Those things were genuine.

The things Ardyn found himself looking forward to.

Falling for.

Had the scourge not been so powerful, he would not have done anything to further the wiles of the Six. Noctis did absolutely nothing to deserve a fate such as this.

Because even if the prince’s body died, the crystal would mend it back together, for Noctis’ soul, too, was snatched into the Beyond. They were both immortal until the scourge had been completely annihilated. 

Tragedy at its finest. 

He leaned over and laid a kiss, soft and fleeting, to Noctis’ brow. Ardyn sighed and rose to his feet. 

He closed the door and made his way through the reception room where one Gladiolus Amicitia sat, reading another one of those books of his. The sworn shield of the would-be king did not trust Ardyn, and for good reason. The Accursed didn’t blame him for the furtive glances and sometimes downright murderous glares when no one was looking.

Ardyn was the man who brought the kingdom down around the king’s ears, after all.

Ardyn bowed, low and sweeping. “He’s in your hands, now.”

Gladio, as he was so affectionately called, grunted his acknowledgment and pointedly turned the page. 

He never even deigned to stand on ceremony when it was just them, either. 

No matter. Gralea awaited him; there was more business to attend to.

“Beauty sleep’s wasted on the ugly.”

Even as the shield sworn to protect him, Gladiolus Amicitia pulled none of his punches.

“So that’s why you’re always up so early,” Noctis quipped, blinking himself fully awake. 

He pushed himself up on his elbows, his blurred gaze falling on the bulky shape beside the window in his bed chambers. The light was bright and, while welcome, could stand to be dimmer.

The other man was posted against the wall across the room, tapping away at his phone. He glanced up at the prince.

“Good,” he huffed. “You’re back to normal.”

Noctis raised a brow and was about to ask for an explanation when the door to the room swung open. 

“Leave us,” the familiar gentle tenor echoed in the otherwise quiet room. 

Gladio bowed and left hastily. Presumably to stand not too far down the hall.

Noctis watched his father settle on his bedside, easing onto the mattress with less of a struggle than he used to. Those old green eyes roved over Noctis’ face as the king took his son’s hands in his.

“Are you alright?” 

He hated to hear it: that turbulent waver only precious few ever heard from the steadfast king of Lucis. He knew his father tried to hide it, his worry. But there was only so much a worried man could do to hide his fear for the life of his only child.

“I’m fine,” he offered with a small smile, made warmer by the answering one the king returned. 

“Good,” Regis murmured. “Do you remember what happened?”

Noctis took a moment to think. “I was headed to the outpost and—.”

Regis shook his head.

Noctis frowned, gaze falling to the bedsheets. He took another moment before: “We were inspecting the supply ships where…”

Another shake.

“Um,” Noctis tried, willing the images to come. “It was dark. Night time, I think, in the fields. …Running?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he opened eyes he didn’t remember closing to meet his father’s. They were intense, but no less loving. 

“I,” Noctis worked his jaw. “I don’t—.”

“Easy,” Regis soothed. “Take your time. I need you to remember the last thing you did. Just you. Here, in the Citadel.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

Regis withdrew his hand and sat there quietly, patient as always. It did nothing to stop the tiniest bit of fear from crawling up his son’s spine. 

The weight he saw beginning to leave his father’s shoulders started to settle on Noctis’ chest, heavy and unyielding.

“I was,” he began at length. “I was going over the Council’s proposals…”

“Good. Go on.”

“And I was halfway through with them. Iggy came by, and he… Iggy, he—.” 

He reached as far as he could, but the only thing he remembered, barely, was work. And then… It was dark. There was nothing. Absolutely—.

“Nothing,” he echoed softly. “It’s all muddy and…” 

He cast a desperate look at his father. “Is something wrong? Did something happen to Iggy?”

“No,” Regis was quick to assure him. “No, Ignis is fine. Everyone’s concerned about the guy who’s been asleep for two days.”

Noctis bit back a curse and sighed, both relieved and frustrated. “Two days,” he ran a hand over his face. “Now I’m way behind.”

“Leave it to Ignis to sort it out for you,” Regis shifted on the mattress. “You, however, must prepare to welcome your spouse back to the citadel.”

Noctis’ brows furrowed. “It’s been that long already?”

“Well, work does devour the time,” Regis replied wryly, rising. “And there’s not much of it left. I’ll have the doctors attend you.”

He ascended the Citadel steps with lofty grace, the brim of his fedora tilted just so to hide all save the strength of his jawline and generous dusting of stubble. As he came closer, Noctis could see those amber eyes glinting in the shadow—peering at him. 

The abyss that stared back.

The man of the midnight hour arrived dressed in a royal suit tailored to fit a king long forgotten. 

And it came back again, that… that feeling. That curdling sensation—a thrumming in his veins of a magic desperate to draw in the darkness approaching him, parched for the sordid night and its bitter tang.

That itch to envelop which was once destined to die by the light of the Bladekeeper. 

He watched Ardyn turn charming smiles to the jumble of cameras and news reporters held at bay by the Crownsguard. Watched him offer sincere thanks and gratitude for the warm, cacophonous welcome of the media.

And then Noctis was in his arms, snatched into an embrace, all-encompassing as it was cold. 

“Say ‘cheese’, dearest husband,” the ex-chancellor purred. “Make it look good.”

Noctis peered around the wild red hair to see photographers eagerly trying to find the best angle of them: this wedded end of a hated regime saved only by the words of a man capable of chaos and destruction.

The prince gave a winning smile and an audible welcome home, looking to Ardyn, searching his eyes for the blue skies long swallowed by the scorch of the sun. 

Leisurely, for the camera—for the world—they strolled through the Citadel entrance.

Ardyn was like a wraith; a weightless silence that kept the deepest secrets of the damned. But Noctis always knew where he was—knew the difference between the dark and The Dark—and moved unhindered when beckoned through the black of their shared quarters. 

His magic was that force, pulling him deeper into the suite with dizzying urgency. It rooted him to the spot with cold hands to seize him: one around his throat, another over his eyes. 

The scourge whispered in his ear, teeming with the unheard cries of the trapped souls, with one loudest of them all.

Noctis raised his hands and covered Ardyn’s.

It might have been evening when he woke up. Time escaped him sometimes after a hunt.

...No; he didn’t hunt. He hadn’t taken on a bounty in over ten years. Must have been reading one of the Glaive reports for too long again. 

Absurd, he corrected himself. His side was just legislation and resources. He needed—.

_**More—.** _

Weapons were due to the armory for whetting and—. No, that was not—.

_**Feed--.** _

“…you…”

There was much to be done, Noctis decided. He needed to get to--.

_**Hunt--.** _

“….ake?”

\--Ignis for the rest of his paperwork. There were deadlines—.

_**Consume—.** _

“Noct.”

The clamoring eased into a rumbling murmur at the back of his head.

Ignis, Noctis’ ruin of a mind supplied, was already on his feet, equipped with a glass of water and striding toward the bed with purpose.

Noctis rose tired eyes to meet the wide, concerned ones of his best friend’s. “Hey,” he rasped, trying to sit up.

The room lurched and he closed his eyes against the harsh wave of vertigo. Pain lanced up his back through the old scar, and his vision stuttered.

“Easy now,” Ignis laid a staying hand on his shoulder. 

At some point Ignis had helped him back down onto the mattress, the exact moment lost to the sudden appearance of the old mosaic overhead. The evening sun smeared itself across the ceiling and swirled dangerously, mimicking the twisting agony in his back--descended upon him as a weight atop his chest, warm like a lover. Heavy.

Like a predator.

The clamoring began anew; from whispers to a low rumble. Louder. 

Heavier.

Howling. Begging. 

_Crushing._

Screeching. 

_Breaking—._

Noctis screamed.

  
Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII knew what agony sounded like. It was quiet and reedy, labored and guttural. It was loud, crass and obscene. It was a sound no one should have to make. Not his son.

Never his son.

And it would haunt him to his dying days.

The prince’s room was dark with only the light of the moon to grant vision. Regis was in the bed, seated behind his flailing child. He tucked Noctis’ head under his chin, using all his strength to hold him still. 

Regis forbade anyone else entrance, much to his guards’ ire and frustration. But this was his son: his responsibility. He may not be able to do much, but Six, allow him to aid his child if only in this.

The scourge and the light of the crystal waged war in Noctis’ body, tearing him apart from the inside out. He was hot to the touch, scorched like desert sand and black veins rippled under his skin as he was devoured.

By the twilight hours, Noctis was limp and weak. The hoarse sobs that wracked his shuddering frame could have been from either of them as Regis held him close.

The king ushered in the dawn by drying his son’s tears while shedding his own. He rocked his boy slowly, absently humming the lullaby Aulea had so favored. 

Soon, Noctis quieted. Regis took great care in laying his son down, carding gentle fingers through his hair. He looked down, and took a heavy seat at the edge of the mattress. 

Blue eyes, just like his mother’s, were hooded with exhaustion, red rimmed with more than just tears.The blackened veins were a sickly, faded gray and blood caked around his nose where it left him in rivulets all night.

And he was still. So, so still.

…Much too still.

The king’s unsteady fingers flew to his son’s neck, the other hand gently patting Noctis’ chest, each touch more desperate than the last. 

No.

Six, no.

Swelling grief pushed him to his knees as he held the prince’s bloodied nightshirt in a white-knuckled grip.

When the sun rose, Regis’s wail filled the citadel as the last bit of blood dribbled from his son’s lips.

  
They worked in relative silence all day in the study. The curtains were pulled apart this time and daylight sprawled across the room. Noctis sat behind the desk, pouring over the documents Ignis brought him, while the latter was seated opposite, going over what Noctis might have overlooked.

He definitely did not miss the furtive glances cast his way. Nor the quick, sharp inspections whenever he and his oldest friend made eye contact.

“We’ve known each other since we thought boogers taste like candy,” Noctis said casually, flipping over to the next clause. “You can tell me what’s on your mind.”

To his credit, Ignis didn’t pause in his work but he did offer a frustrated sigh.

“I’m worried.”

Noctis glanced up. Ignis hadn’t stopped leafing through his own stack but the telling set of his jaw made Noctis finish his signature, set down his pen and get up.

He took the seat next to Ignis, gently taking the papers and setting them aside.

“Talk to me.”

Ignis was silent for a time, calm and cool. And then he looked at Noctis.

The prince nearly reared back from the raw display of… everything that Ignis was feeling. All that was left was for his lip to quiver and the rolling of the first teardrop.

“That looks a hell of a lot more than just worried, Specs,” Noctis managed to force around the growing lump in his own throat.

“Tell me Noct,” Ignis said evenly. “Is this what it felt like when Insomnia fell?” 

Noctis frowned. “What…?”

“When we all thought the king had died? When you insisted there was something you could have done?”

“Ignis--.”

“Is it this…” Ignis made a helpless gesture with his hand. “Thing at the back of your mind—saying that you should have been able to do something? Like you’ve somehow failed but in reality there was nothing that could be done?”

Noctis bit his lip.

“…Yeah.”

Ignis leaned back in his chair, looking even more distraught.

“What’s got you feeling this way, Specs? What can I do?”

Ignis huffed a bitter laugh. “I was hoping you could tell me what I could do.”

“To what?”

“Keep you alive.”

“What? Keep me—,” Noctis frowned. “What do you mean? Where’s all this coming from?”

“From wondering if you’ll wake up next time.”

And then he understood.

“…Oh.”

Ignis drew in a shuddering breath. “’Oh.’”

Noctis let his head hang. What could he say to something like that? “I—I don’t know.”

“Then it would seem we’re in the same boat.”

“I—,” The prince sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“…Sometimes,” Ignis started at length. “Sometimes I find myself wishing the journey never ended. That we never came back home.”

“Me too, Specs,” Noctis agreed. “But the prophecy—.”

 _“Is fucking killing you, Noctis,”_ Ignis barked. But the fight was gone as quickly as it came and he looked down at his hands, struggling to compose himself.

“A—Apologies, Highness, I…” His jaw worked, but he could say no more.

Noctis found himself on his knees before his friend, gently removing the other’s glasses and taking gloved hands into his own. 

“The truth is,” he sighed. “I’m meant to die.”

Ignis drew in a ragged breath.

“Not Luna,” the prince continued. “If it wasn’t for the Covenant of the Oracle I would have—.”

“Stop,” Ignis broke. “I beg you. Please, stop.”

“Hey,” Noctis soothed. “Hey Iggy, come on, look at me. Please.”

His adviser slowly opened wet-rimmed eyes. “Some days I can’t bear to,” he whispered.

* * *

Noctis was shaken awake and on his feet, following Gladio before he opened his eyes properly.. He reached into his pocket and popped the breath mint he brought along, anxious to save himself—and the public at large—from the carcass born during his afternoon nap.

It was the first of many trips around Eos, intended to help with the rebuilding of the world, after all.

“Look alive, Princess,” Gladio advised gruffly. 

Noctis grunted, stretching as he clambered out of the transport truck. The midday sun hit his eyes like a hot poker and he quickly raised a hand to shield himself. 

The farms in the plains of Duscae were a little less green than when he first saw it, after The Fall. 

“The sun just came back a little over a year ago, remember?” Gladio fixed him with a raised eyebrow. “Keep up.”

Had he said that out loud?

“No,” Gladio snorted, still leading the way to the processing plant. “I’ve known you so long I could read your mind.”

“You’re a riot,” Noctis deadpanned.

“Next time, try to keep the voices in your head? Don’t need you scaring the locals.”

“Not if they see you first.”

They fell into easy banter for a while as they neared the plant. Members of the Crownsguard slated to join set up at their planned strategic points, with two posted at the entrance and another three entering before Noctis and Gladio walked through, composed like the adults they were.

Inside was packed with dust and smoke, men and women alike working the stations. Heads turned, and various expressions of wonder greeted them while whispers gathered in their wake. 

_‘Who the hell is he?’_

_‘Wasn’t he on the news somewhere?’_

_‘Isn’t he married to His Highness?’_

The supervisor came to meet them at the end of the aisle, a bemused smile on his face. He cast an unsure glance at Noctis and looked to Gladio, recognition instantly apparent.

“I thought His Highness was coming?”

“You’re looking at him,” Gladio all but growled.

The man, taken by surprise, stepped back.

Noctis barely resisted rolling his eyes and glanced at his shield. “I told you, you’d scare them first.”

“My apologies,” the man bowed, uncertainty flickering across his features. “Welcome to the main Duscaean Agricultural Plant. I’m Duke. How ‘bout a tour before we get to business?”

“Of course,” Noctis offered a serene smile. It seemed to bolster the man’s confidence, at least. 

“Excellent,” Duke beamed. “Right this way.”

_‘That the king?’_

_‘No, dumbass. Boss would have said something. It’s probably his son.’_

_‘What do you mean? He’s in a coma, isn’t he?’_

_‘You mean he ain’t dead?’_

_‘Shut up—!’_

Noctis sighed inwardly, keeping up the facade of polite interest. He continued to greet the employees as he was shown each department. 

Reception was lukewarm at best, but he couldn’t ask for anything more than that. Even so, he was here to do a job, not be recognized. And these citizens were here to work, not gather around and kowtow. Further still, Noctis was quite possibly the freshest face on the planet since the sun came back up. 

Noctis shot his Shield a look when one of the… less than stellar comments reached their ears. To his surprise, Gladio just kept trucking, eyes always searching for the first sign of danger. 

Well, Noctis reasoned, the man was past thirty now, and he had matured in leaps and bounds. Time didn’t stand still for him like it did for Noctis, after all.

Noctis tried to shift discreetly after a bit, sweat beginning to settle between his shoulders and around his waist. It was a good thing that he only wore a vest ensemble rather than a full three-piece. He was going to reward Ignis for his foresight when he got home.

“This is it,” Duke said with a flourish. They arrived at a small warehouse, the only place without smoke billowing somewhere around it, trying to cook the prince alive. 

Duke took a small device that was hooked on his jeans and pressed a button. The doors parted as they neared, a burst of cool air the best reception Noctis could ask for. 

The Crownsguard immediately began casing the area and placed themselves at their chosen vantage points. Inside there were no real partitions—a pretty open space for the office work to be done. 

The prince, his Shield, and Duke made their way to a desk far off to the side.

“Alright,” Noctis said as he and Gladio took the offered seats. “Let’s get to business, shall we?”

“They grow up so fast,” Gladio mock-sobbed, chuckling when Noctis swiped him across his arm. But he did mean it, somewhat. It did his heart good to see Noctis finally coming into his role as part of the royal family and soon-to-be-king.

Both of them were seated on their beds in one of the rooms at the LeVille, preparing for bed. The prince flung his vest and shirt off to the side somewhere with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“Today went pretty well, I think,” Noctis grunted, toeing off his shoes. He groaned, wiggling his freed toes. “I hope the rest of the trip goes as smoothly. I don’t have the social energy for anything otherwise.”

“Suck it up,” Gladio said, losing his sweaty shirt. “Not everyone’s gonna like seeing you instead of Ardyn.”

“I heard,” Noctis sighed. He flopped backward onto the mattress, spreadeagle. It was so like him, it was like he didn’t age at all during the ten years in the crystal.

Sure, his body had filled out and he finally grew some facial hair, but Noct was still Noct. 

“Don’t think about it too much,” Gladio grabbed a fresh pair of boxers from his duffel and rummaged for the rest of his toiletries. “They’ll get used to seeing you pretty soon.”

He heard Noctis groan piteously and he snorted. “First day on the job and you’re already bitching. Classic Noctis.”

“First of all, I’ve been on this job for a solid year,” his charge argued. “There was a lot of paperwork to swim through before I could do the actual ground work.”

“I’m honestly surprised you’re not faced down in a stack of papers right now.”

“A very near thing, I assure you, but Iggy wouldn’t let me bring any of it,” Noctis quipped around a yawn. “Oh, well would you look at that: no papers and still dozing off. What a time.”

Gladio shook his head. “I’m gonna catch a shower. Don’t fall asleep until you’ve had yours, louse.”

“I won’t. I promised to call Iggy anyway.”

When he came out of the shower, he whistled to signal Noctis the bathroom was free. The prince looked up from his call and nodded before continuing his conversation.

While Noctis yammered on about his woes to Ignis, Gladio took the time to look at his friend. It wasn’t hard to reconcile the baby faced, whiny kid he used to babysit with the considerably more responsible man he turned out to be. 

But the differences were beginning to show. Especially after he was chucked out of the crystal, and then married off to the Accursed.

Gladio scowled.

That idea never sat well with him and it still didn’t. Not when the reason for it was quite frankly putting him out of a job as Shield to the future king. The whole idea reeked of gods playing with people’s lives instead of cleaning up their own mess.

Noctis hadn’t told him—any of them—what was really going on. Gladio had to find out for himself, overhearing the terse conversation between his father, Clarus and the Marshall. By the end of their talk, it was all Gladio could do to not march into the prince’s shared chambers and slaughter Ardyn in his sleep.

Some days Gladio could still see the lines of exhaustion dig into the skin around Noctis’ eyes. His steps that sometimes dragged when he thought no one was looking. And it was always worse after one of... those.

The first time was the worst; finding Noctis convulsing in his study choking on his own blood while Gladio was right outside. It was only two months after he left the crystal and was given back to them with a second chance at life. Two months and the Six were already trying to steal him away again. 

Gladio was many things but he was no match for an Astral, else he would have squared up against Bahamut the first chance he got.

But he had a purpose and he would fulfill it to the best of his ability. Even if that meant standing by while—.

“Hey!”

Gladio startled, blinking himself back to the present. He glanced over to see Noctis sitting beside him, clean clothes slung over his shoulder and attention fully on him. He could see it clearly now, the flecks of yellow in those blue eyes and the creeping of black from the corners. 

He felt his blood begin to boil.

“Gladio,” Noctis said slowly. “You’re starting to freak me out, man. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Gladio grunted, willing himself to calm down.

“If you say so,” came the unsure acquiescence. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

Gladio turned away and listened to the other pad toward the bathroom, whistling some foreign tune. 

After the bathroom door closed, he raked shaky fingers through his hair. 

  
They met Ardyn in Gralea two weeks later. Gladio hated every minute of it.

As soon as they entered Niflheim borders, Noctis was… off. He was more absent minded. Quieter. His magic escalated and his eyes would glow for hours and he’d seem so distraught when…whatever it was….didn’t work.

Oh, he’d always perform his duties almost perfectly before descending back into that glum stupor, looking off into the distance. But from what Ignis said, it was best to leave Noctis alone and get him to Ardyn as soon as possible. 

Gladio glanced at the prince, who was almost glued to the window on their left. It took everything in him not to yank his charge down and scold him like the child he was being. But Ignis’ instructions rang loud and clear every time he thought about it.

“Do not interfere.”

Gladio would have given anything to have the adviser here with them just to avoid having to deal with this. He hated the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hated that his gut instinct had never led him wrong.

Ardyn met them on the blacktop, the familiar coy smile curling his lips. Only dignity and public image seemed to stop Noctis from just barreling into the older man. That, and the stern warning Gladio gave him before they left the ship.

Gladio followed behind them, hard pressed to keep vigil for any outside danger instead of watching Noctis hang off of every useless word Ardyn was spewing.

He truly wanted to believe that it was all for show, for the public at large, but he knew Noctis better than most—knew that Noctis was Prince Charmless for a reason. He couldn’t act like a simpering fool even if he tried. Yet here he was, above the clouds and disregarding Ardyn’s personal space like it didn’t exist.

Like he was in love with the man.

Gladio knew Ardyn traveled more than he was at the Citadel, continuing political work on behalf of the king in the less hospitable areas like Gralea. He didn’t know the tiny details of his and Noctis’ personal life together—nor did he want to know—but none of it made sense to him. Noctis spent months of their lives hunting this man down to kill him.

Yet there he was, practically sitting in Ardyn’s lap.

The disturbance Gladio felt was beginning to eat at him the longer he stuck around the pair. Alarm bells were screeching, but there was nothing else around that could possibly harm them. 

Gladio eyed Ardyn for the rest of the walk to the safe house.

He woke to the smell of chocolate and delectable bacon. He sat up from where he’d slid down the arm of the sofa, working out all of the kinks. He grunted and groaned as the bones snapped back into place—sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t a twenty-two year old spring chicken anymore, no matter how much he kept in shape.

“You were right,” he heard Noctis chuckling behind him. “Beauty sleep really is wasted on the ugly. Hot damn.”

Gladio’s middle finger was already airborne as he turned around to find the his charge standing next to the breakfast nook in the middle of the kitchen. Noctis looked better than he had in a while as he walked over, a plate of bacon with eggs smothered in melted cheese in one hand and a steaming cup of something in the other.

Gladio murmured his thanks, confusion scrawled over his still-sleepy features. “We had a chef shipped over?”

Noctis had the gall to look offended, already reaching for the plate. “Starve.”

Gladio scooted out of reach, careful not to spill any of the hot chocolate on the white leather of the couch. “That’s more like the real Noctis,” he carefully set down the plate and mug. “Since when do you cook?”

“The maids taught me when mother was too busy training with her chakram,” Noctis huffed, righting himself and folding his arms.

Gladio frowned. “There’s no way the maids taught you—you were too young.”

Noctis stiffened before running a hand over his face. He groaned. “Great.”

“You losin’ it or something, Princess?”

Noctis dropped into the sofa beside Gladio and sighed. “Sometimes I think I am.” He cast a sideways glance at Gladio. “Eat before it gets cold.”

“This is surprisingly good,” Gladio mumbled around his first shoveling. He downed some of the cocoa.

“It’s bacon and eggs,” Noctis scowled. “Can’t exactly fuck that up.”

Gladio guffawed. “Noctis, you burn water if left unsupervised.”

The prince snorted. “You’re right.”

“So,” the shield pressed. “When did you learn?”

“I didn’t,” Noctis hedged. “Not really.”

“Story time.”

“The Rogue learned how to cook from the maids,” Noctis explained at length.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t included in the lessons you slept through.”

Noctis glared at his friend. “They were memories from the crystal.”

The mug froze halfway to Gladio’s lips. “The crystals’ messing with your memories? Does Ignis know about this? The king?”

Noctis shifted uneasily, the conflict flashing across his face. “I think my dad knows,” he offered. “If anything, Ignis probably figured it out. He didn’t say anything to me about it.”

“You probably didn’t give the man breakfast in bed yet.” Gladio smirked. “If it surprised me, you’d give him a heart attack.”

Noctis couldn’t resist the laugh bubbling in his throat. “He’d have me thrown in jail and declared an impostor.”

“And I’d believe him.”

They spent a few moments in silence while Gladio stuffed his face. “Anything else you want to mention? The whole ‘marrying-the-enemy and ‘banshee-by-night’ are still up in the air for me.”

The prince seemed thoughtful for a moment before guilt washed over his features. “I guess I never did tell you guys, did I?”

“Pray tell,” Gladio drawled. “What gave you that idea?”

“You want to know or not?” Noctis snapped.

Gladio wisely remained silent.

Noctis drew in a shaky breath. “Well, you know about the Covenant of the Oracle.”

“It’s been mentioned once or twice.”

“Well, after taking in the Crystal’s power, I was supposed to kill Ardyn but Bahamut showed up and explained something entirely different. Like: ‘Change of plans, boys, here’s what we’re gonna do.’ Asshole,” he muttered after a pause.

Gladio smirked.

“So,” Noctis continued. “You know how Somnus was the founding king? He actually wasn’t. He killed his brother and his brother’s fiancee and assumed the title.”

“Well,” Gladio frowned over his hot chocolate. “That’s a little fucked up.”

Noctis made a noise of agreement. “And he did it because his brother was running around absorbing the scourge and healing people instead of, like him, burning the infected alive.”

“I mean,” Gladio grimaced. “Cruel but—.”

“But effective. Yeah, I know. But his brother had a heart for the people. He wanted them to live—to enjoy life as it was meant to. Free and under the sun.”

Gladio didn’t miss the fond smile and faraway look on Noctis’ face. The same dopey expression he had when he talked about Luna one time ago.

“You see, the crystal was supposed to choose one of them to ascend the throne and protect the people. But because Ardyn—.”

The coffee mug landed with a little more force than Gladio had planned. “Ardyn?”  
  
“Ah yes, Jordan.” Noctis made a face. “The man who delivers our pizza.”

Gladio narrowed his eyes. Noctis ignored him and doggedly continued his explanation.

“Because Ardyn took in so much of the scourge, the crystal refused him his right to the throne. Somnus was about to kill him when I—Aera got in the way of the finishing blow. Before Etros came to take her, she made a deal with Bahamut. Ardyn would be cured by the True King instead of killed. Surprisingly the big bastard agreed.”

Noctis sighed. “But the only way to save him was to end the line of the Oracle and pass on the healing traits to the True King that he may cleanse the Accursed and destroy the darkness.”

“So Luna needed to die.”

“Not necessarily. If she didn’t, I would have been the one dead on the throne instead.”

“Alright, now you’re fucking with me,” Gladio growled but was stayed by the gentle hand on his knee.

“It’s the truth, Gladio,” Noctis affirmed. “The sun would rise, hook or by crook.”

“Why do I get the feeling we took the ‘crook’ route.”

The sad smile told Gladio all he needed to know. Gladio drew in a breath, mouth curling. “So how’s this dude even cured?”

Noctis glanced at him and immediately burst into laughter. “If you’re thinking what I think you are, then one hundred percent no.”

The Shield’s entire frame relaxed and Noctis only laughed harder. Gladio punched him in the shoulder.

“But,” Noctis gasped as he finally began to compose himself. “But it’s not impossible. It’s all through touch.”

“No thank you.”

“You asked,” the prince smirked.

“And I regret all of it.” They sat in a companionable silence before Noctis rose to clear the table, shoving Gladio back down when he tried to take over. 

“I have to ask though,” the shield sat back. Noctis made a noise of acknowledgment. “If this first Oracle was able to strike a deal, couldn’t you have done something?”

Noctis was quiet for a moment. “Bahamut,” he began, “Is a god that values sacrifice. The scourge has to go, and someone has to die for it.”

“What? Absolute fucking bullsh—.”

“You haven’t noticed?” Noctis interrupted. Calm. Casual. Far too at peace with the whole situation. “Every time someone asked the Six for anything their hearts desired, a life was given? Make me king. A life. Keeping the crystal safe cost the lives of over one hundred rulers over the course of hundreds of years.”

Noctis looked down at the ring on his finger, rotating the small piece of jewelry absently. Softly, “Begging for my fiancee’s life cost me mine.”

Gladio swallowed hard. Gruffly, “You’re slipping again, Noct.”

“No, Gladio,” Noctis turned to wash the used items. “I’m not.”

  
There was that roiling in the pit of his stomach again. 

The air had shifted and Noctis was back on his bullshit. Gladio took in the glazed eyes and blown pupils. The bouncing leg and lip biting. Noctis still managed regular conversation—kept his wits about him and even managed to beat Gladio in a few rounds of Blackjack.

“What’s up?” Gladio asked.

Noctis flipped over the card. “Nothing. Hit me.”

But every so often, his eyes would stray toward the front door.

The feeling in the shield’s gut intensified.

“You hear something?” Gladio asked the twelfth time it happened. He noted that it was happening with increased frequency and it put him on edge.

“No,” Noctis murmured, almost dragging his attention back to the backgammon board. He rolled the dice and moved his pieces.

Gladio took hold of the container and juggled for his turn, still watching the prince. “You’ve been looking at the door for the past hour and a half.”

Noctis looked at him with a frown. “No, I haven’t.”

Gladio sighed, scowling. “You think you’re other people on a good day, Noct. Something’s going on whether you know it or not.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” Noctis groused, already looking at the door again. “I’m fine.”

Gladio left it alone for the next hour, fighting the urge to just backhand his charge and get him back to normal. He had been shooting texts to Ignis about it, and was issued the same instruction.

Leave it alone and get Noctis to Ardyn.

So Specs probably did put two and two together. If he didn’t know everything, he knew enough.

The door of the safe house swung open and Noctis was on his feet, phasing through the air faster than Gladio could process. 

Ardyn met Noctis at the mouth of the living room, the shimmer of demonic scourge surrounding him like a living cloak. Gladio was moving, great sword pulled from the Armiger. 

But something held him in place before he could insert himself between the prince and the Accursed.

“It’s okay, Gladio.” 

At that moment Noctis was more than one person, his voice layered with gentle whispers and the sound of the void.

Despite that, the shield struggled against his invisible shackles as he watched Ardyn’s smile take on that coy, malicious edge. 

“That’s right, dear old Gladdy,” Ardyn purred. He turned black eyes to the squirming bodyguard and Gladio froze. “Let my dear husband attend me.”

All his days of seeing this man on a rampage, never has he not seen the slightest hint of amber in those scourge-stained depths. He watched, helpless, as Ardyn clutched a docile Noctis to himself. The scourge, dark and virulent, slithered around the prince like the perfect blanket. 

And Noctis, still doe-eyed and dazed, raised his hands to cup Ardyn’s face, careful as if holding something precious. And his magic spilled forth, rushing over the Accursed like free-flowing water. He brought Ardyn’s face closer, slotting his lips over the older man’s.

But something in the magic, shimmering, gave Gladio pause. He couldn’t have mistaken the flash of blond hair and dainty fingers taking the place of Noctis’ increasingly disfiguring form. The pureness of the aberration was like a bandage over a gaping wound; Noctis’ skin peeled, oozing the black of a daemon’s blood. His fingers shriveled and his hair lost all its color. 

The prince’s body started to convulse and he began to choke into the kiss and Gladio’s fight against his bindings began anew.

Both men fell to their knees and toppled over. The great sword vanished in a shatter of sparks; then Gladio was suddenly free to move and he wasted no time in gathering the prince into his arms and getting him away from Ardyn. 

He moved his body between the two, hissing when he couldn’t recall his sword from the Armiger. He turned wide eyes to his charge and fought the urge to retch. Noctis was old; decrepit and looked as dead as they came, with melted, boiling skin. The scourge still wove between the gaps.

He heard Ardyn struggling to his feet on the other side of the room. He wanted to charge over there and beat the man until he was nothing but bones and blood. 

“The fuck did you do to him!”

He didn’t bother to wait on an answer, checking for a pulse that could have been the scourge bubbling in the blackened veins.

To his relief, however, Noctis started to return to normal. His hair was no longer bone white and got back that healthy black sheen; his face restored to the angular vision it had become over time in the crystal. The scourge seemed to dissipate, leaving nothing but an unconscious man in the middle of a living room floor.

A weak voice drifted over the silence. “Take him to the room and lock the door behind you.”

Gladio turned a murderous eye to the Accursed. “You got some nerve—.”

But the look on Ardyn’s face somehow gave him pause. The ex-Chancellor’s full attention lay on Noctis with an odd look on his face—the look Regis wore when he finally let the doctors into the room that night. 

Anguish. Sorrow.

Regret.

Even more startling, was his eyes. One was a dark green, and the other a striking blue.

“If you value your friend’s life at all,” Ardyn’s voice gained strength. “take him into that room and barricade the door.”

Gladio moved and did just that, leaving a chair under the handle. He took the prince and laid him on the bed, arranging him into a comfortable position. 

“Shouldn’t you be in here with him?”

“Call Ignis and let him know we’re returning at first light. Hurry, you don’t have much time.”

Time for what?

But he knew a warning when he heard one and Gladio placed the call. There was a long silence on the other end before Ignis confirmed and said he would tell the king. 

“Gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, Izunia?” Gladio barked through the metal of the door. 

“Am I to assume he’s told you nothing, then?” He heard a sigh and irritated muttering. 

“No, I’m fucking clueless!” Not a complete lie. “Do I have to protect him from your now?”

“No,” Ardyn sounded exhausted. “Protect him from himself. He’s in stasis now, but when his magic starts to replenish, you’re going to have to keep him restrained. He absolutely cannot be near me when it does.”

The feeling in his stomach came back.

That night was the longer than the ten years Eos was plunged into darkness.

At dawn, the door to the bedroom opened and Gladio exited, gently closing the door behind him. The Shield took in a shaky breath and slowly made his way over, sitting heavily next to the wide-awake ex-Chancellor. 

He couldn’t stop looking at the blood on his hands; stop his mind’s eye from staring at the thick rivulets flowing out of Noctis’ nose. Couldn’t unsee the black veins crawling under pale skin—skin that fell off and pieced itself back together while Gladio used every bit of his strength to hold the flailing man in place.

Noctis’ screams still echoed in his head, wet, guttural and wretched.

And when it was over, the price was cold to the touch; far too quiet.

Far too still.

Gladio’s breath hitched.

“We can’t allow him to be seen like this,” Ardyn finally broke the silence, rising to his feet. Gladio wordlessly joined him, already looking for a wash cloth and bowl. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but follow Ardyn’s instructions, the thought of getting any closer than he was making his hands tremble. 

If Gladio were anyone else, he would have thought that Noctis was Ardyn’s entire world; the brown haired man went about cleaning the prince with more love than he’d ever seen from any one person. He was careful—so careful as if one wrong move would break the younger man. All the while he talked to Noctis, asking questions, telling him things—confessions that probably would have never reached Gladio’s ears; may not have reached Noctis’—and humming an achingly familiar tune.

The one Noctis was whistling during their time in Duscae.

He dried and dressed Noctis with the tenderness of a lover, arranged him with the respect of a true friend. 

It wasn’t until Ardyn left to greet the coming airship that Gladio let the first tear fall.

Ignis flipped through the dossiers of the new plants being constructed in Cleigne. He sat in the armchair of the reception room of Noctis’ shared chambers with Gladio for company. Ignis cast a glance at his friend, who’d sighed for the tenth time in as many minutes.

When he asked about it, he didn’t expect for Gladio to look so… haunted.

Then he remembered the phone-call he got before they came back to Insomnia three months prior and he understood; there was nothing the chamberlain could say that would make it any easier.

“I know,” was all he could offer.

“…Yeah,” Gladio answered.

They were both brought out of their musings at the sound of the door closing and footsteps meeting them in the living room.

Ardyn plopped into the armchair opposite Ignis, quiet. The silence weigh heavy over all three of them, gaining weight by the passing of each second. Gladio’s shoulders were tense, muscles coiled and ready to spring at the first signal. 

Ignis was all but crushing the folder in his hand.

“Well?” he prodded when there was nothing forthcoming. “How is he?”

Ardyn slowly raised his head to look at him, and his breath caught at the sight of bright blue eyes. Gone were the amber and green with flecks of the sun. 

“They’re blue,” Noctis’ broken voice tumbled from Ardyn’s lips, tears rolling over high cheekbones. “They’re finally blue.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first Ardynoct fic and I hope I did okay with it. If you've made it this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> The working prompt was Arranged Marriage with freedom to do whatever. It didn't focus on the marriage itself but it was used as a basis for the rest of it.


End file.
